


Reparations

by huggabee



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Steve Rogers, Sharon Carter/Steve Rogers is gross, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-06-07 07:37:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6795118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/huggabee/pseuds/huggabee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony tapped his fingers against his desk, inattentively listening to the beeping of his phone receiver, the red blinking light barely sneaking into his peripheral vision. Ross was still on hold, had been for about ten minutes, for some reason holding out hope that the former hero would pick up. Of course, he wasn’t going to. Instead, he was staring at the other phone, the nondescript burner that had fallen from the envelope that Steve had sent him, trying to push back the overwhelming need to just call him by internalising his feelings and ignoring that he was fully aware that it wasn’t healthy to bottle it all up.</p>
<p> Twelve days, seventeen minutes, and thirty-four seconds was exactly how long Tony held back, not that anyone was counting. During that time, he got four nights’ sleep, ate eleven meals, and drank nearly fifty pots of coffee.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>On day twelve, at half past five o’clock, he couldn’t do it anymore, and reached a weak, shaky hand into his pocket to grab the burner phone, calling the only contact on the phone, choking back a dry sob, and whispering to the person on the other end, “You said to call if we needed you . . . what if it’s just me? What if I need you?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Need You

Tony tapped his fingers against his desk, inattentively listening to the beeping of his phone receiver, the red blinking light barely sneaking into his peripheral vision. Ross was still on hold, had been for about ten minutes, for some reason holding out hope that the former hero would pick up. Of course, he wasn’t going to. Instead, he was staring at the other phone, the nondescript burner that had fallen from the envelope that Steve had sent him, trying to push back the overwhelming need to just call him by internalising his feelings and ignoring that he was fully aware that it wasn’t healthy to bottle it all up.

 

Eventually, he managed to pull himself together, and pocketed the burner, glaring at the piece of plastic while he did, as if being angry at it would make it less cheap, maybe even transform it into a StarkPhone, before trudging back out of the room and into the very empty Avengers mansion. Rhodey had gone home, wanting to heal around family and friends – Tony had tried to ignore that friends apparently didn’t mean him when his best friend had said that. Clint had returned to his family the moment he was free from the raft, and Natasha had gone with him, happy to help out with the kids and pretend, for just a little while, that she could have a normal life. Vision was nowhere to be found, though everyone knew but didn’t say that he had probably gone after Wanda. Everyone else, of course, was in hiding with Steve. Even the government knew that they must have been in Wakanda, but no one did anything about it for fear of starting another war, or even getting in a dispute between the American government and the king of Wakanda. There was only one other person left in the mansion, the new Pepper, some girl that Tony was probably never going to remember the name of.

 

“Mr. Stark? Your coffee,” came the polite, quiet voice of the girl he had hired, and the billionaire turned to face her, taking the mug of coffee and giving her a half-assed smile.

 

“For the thousandth time, it’s Tony. Mr. Stark was my-…” The man fell into a dazed silence, his eyes fixed on the gently steaming liquid, as he thought about all the terrible things that he’d said about his father, before he knew that the man’s last plea had been for his murderer to help his wife. Moments later, Howard Stark was bludgeoned to death by a metal fist, thinking of his wife before himself, and Tony had resented him for years, convinced his father was a selfish bastard.

 

Pepper 2.0 apparently valued her job, because she acted as if everything was fine, as if the billionaire hadn’t suddenly fell silent, as if tears weren’t gathering in his already red eyes, and instead simply told him, “Ms. Potts has confirmed that Stark Industries is good to go without your support during your… vacation, and has asked me to inform you that she would like to make your relationship break permanent-“ the girl’s voice wavered but she didn’t pause, acting as if she didn’t see Tony falling apart rapidly “-because she doesn’t want to constantly fear for your life, and also asked me to tell you that she is not willing to talk about it further at present, and to only contact her if it’s an emergency.” For a moment, there was silence, before she asked, “Will that be all, Mr. Stark?”

 

All Tony managed was a hoarse, “Yeah,” before he retreated to his bedroom, imagining Pepper in his car, sitting in the passenger seat and giving him the look – one eyebrow raised slightly, jaw squared and eyes narrowed – that told him that she was done with his crap but still loved him. He could see it if he closed his eyes, the way she tried not to smile, but his mind wasn’t a happy place, and for just a moment he thought about the glimpse he’d gotten of his mother in the car, and then it was Pepper, leaning back against the leather with the seatbelt digging into her skin and blood dripping down from an open wound on her head, eyes dazed and breathing ragged. She wouldn’t have been there if it wasn’t for Tony. She would have been fine. She…

 

He clutched at his chest and squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the ball of anxiety inside him growing ever bigger until it was pressing against his lungs, his heart, threatening to send him spiralling down into the abyss of a panic attack. A few breaths suppressed it long enough for him to finish his thought out loud, muttering under his breath, “She’s better off without me.” Distantly, he remembered how she’d started seeing Happy when their break had begun, and he hoped that things would work out between the two. They both deserved a peaceful, normal life, far, far away from the cloud of misery that followed Tony more closely than even the paparazzi did.

 

Taking a shaky breath, Tony curled up on his bed, not bothering to get under the blankets, not even getting undressed, just lying there, in a tight little human ball, hands over his heart and eyes squeezed tightly shut. He didn’t sleep for hours, and when he did finally pass out from exhaustion, his dreams were plagued with a metal arm and his father’s disfigured face.

 

___

 

Twelve days, seventeen minutes, and thirty-four seconds was exactly how long Tony held back, not that anyone was counting. During that time, he got four nights’ sleep, ate eleven meals, and drank nearly fifty pots of coffee.

 

On day twelve, at half past five o’clock, he couldn’t do it anymore, and reached a weak, shaky hand into his pocket to grab the burner phone, calling the only contact on the phone, choking back a dry sob, and whispering to the person on the other end, “You said to call if we needed you . . . what if it’s just me? What if _I_ need you?” He was suddenly grateful for how cheap the phone they were talking over was, because StarkPhones had video call, and he didn’t know if he could handle showing weakness if Steve could not only hear but also see him.

 

There was a pause, almost too long of a pause, and Tony was about to ask if Steve was still there when the reply finally came. “You need me…? Why would you…?” Another pause followed, a little shorter this time. “Stark – Tony – tell me what’s going on and maybe I can help you out.” He sounded hesitant, and that was understandable. Steve Rogers was a wanted man, so coming back to the States was dangerous, and he’d need a good reason to risk it.

 

“…Never mind. It’s nothing.”

 

“Tony – “

 

“It’s nothing!” The billionaire snapped, jerking up in his seat, back straightening and shoulders tensing as he half screamed into the phone, “I thought I needed you, but now I realise that I don’t! You’re a liar and a traitor and you don’t deserve the shield, you didn’t deserve the serum, not any of it! My dad did so much for you, so much, talked about you and Bucky like you were gods, like you were bigger than life and certainly better than life, like you were more important to him than people like his _son_ or his _wife_ because to him you certainly were! Who has time to love their kids when they could spend their time telling anyone who would listen about how awesome Captain fucking America was?! He always said you were his best creation, but you weren’t, you fucking weren’t! Without him you were nothing, and you’re still nothing! You’re a liar and I thought you were my friend and I should really stop thinking that about people because they always hurt me a-and- You’re just like Obadiah, except he had other people try to kill me. You just tried to do it yourself.”

 

As Tony finished speaking, there was a long lapse in the conversation when no one spoke, and the only sound was the billionaire’s shaky breathing; repetitive, uneven and incredibly weak. Neither man spoke, one absorbing what he had said in his sudden outburst, and the other just waiting to hear his companion calm down before speaking again.

 

“You need me to come back?” Steve questioned calmly, taking the billionaire by surprise.

 

“After what I just said, you – “

 

“Yes,” the super soldier interrupted, and Tony could hear his soft inhale before he huffed out in exhale, seeming to take a moment to gather himself before he continued, “I know, or at least I hope, that you didn’t mean that, all that you just said. I understand that you’re angry that I keep the truth from you, and I’m more than willing to admit that I should have told you. Like I said in my letter, I thought I was protecting you from the pain it would bring, but honestly I was only sparing myself the uncomfortable situation of having to tell you what happened, and the longer I waited, the more I knew you’d be angry that I kept it a secret, and I just couldn’t… I knew Howard, he was a great man, and I hope a great father,” Tony flinched at that, because Howard was far from a great father, “and I didn’t want you to have to live with knowing what had really happened. For it to have been just an accident in your mind seemed better than senseless murder. That’s what I told myself, anyways, but now I can recognise that I was selfish, that I just didn’t want you to hate Bucky. I thought, if Howard told you about who he was… you might like him, and there might be someone else who knew the real Bucky, not what he had become, and I couldn’t lose that hope, and I was a coward because of it, and I’m sorry. I am so sorry, Tony.”

 

He didn’t know what to say to that, or if there even was a right thing to say when Captain America poured his heart out to you in apology, but he couldn’t leave it silent, couldn’t leave Steve hanging, so he took a shaky breath and whispered, “I forgive you.”

 

And then, without saying another word, Tony pulled the burner away from his ear and flipped it shut, effectively ending the call without giving the other a chance to respond, or even a chance to process what had just been said. When the phone started ringing a moment later, it was thrown into the drawer of the man’s nightstand and locked away so that the loud beeping and buzzing was muffled to a light vibration, that was then obliterated by the pillow that the billionaire hugged over his head as he laid limply on his bed and relaxed for the first time since Pepper had suggested they go on a break.

 

Sighing, even smiling a bit, Tony let himself believe for a moment that everything was alright, that he hadn’t just hung up on Steve knowing that the man couldn’t come see him in person, couldn’t contact him at all unless they both made an attempt to talk.

 

Maybe, just maybe, he could be okay.

 

Maybe he didn’t even need Steve to be okay.

 

___

 

_Tony screamed and tried to claw his way out of the darkness within his mind, distantly aware that he was only dreaming. It felt real. It more or less was real. The abyss in his mind stayed even when he woke up, and he was always alone, always alone, trying to escape, needing to escape, clawing at the walls and crying for help, begging for help, just needing help, but no one ever helped, no one even knew._

_Tony was alone._

_Tony was alone._

_Tony was alone._

_Tony was al_

_Tony wa_

_Ton_

_A hand reached down, and Tony tilted his head up, hands sliding down the wall of the pitch black pit, tracing over the scratch marks that he’d left over the years, always trying to get out. His gaze trailed up from a gloved hand to a blue leather sleeve on a muscular arm, to a warm smile, to bright blue eyes, to blond hair, to… Steve._

_He reached out, and took his hand, and he moved up a little, one step closer to getting out of the abyss, and back into happiness._


	2. Solidarity

For two years, absolutely nothing happened, as far as Steve was concerned. He spent over seven hundred days in Wakanda, more or less twiddling his thumbs, completely unaware of all the work that Tony was doing across the ocean, and considering life to be, honestly, rather dull, until he got the call, and things, all at once, went back to normal – whatever normal was for them, anyways.

 

Shield sent over two agents to Wakanda with the promise that they came in peace and wouldn’t even be armed, and that a few doctors would be accompanying them, to help Bucky, to over-ride the programming in his brain. It all sounded rather fishy, until they got there, and Steve was greeted by matching grins on the faces of the two Shield agents, his friends, Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton, as they walked in flanked by the various medical professionals.

 

Smiling, Steve hugged them both one at a time, and laughed, joking, “It’s been too long! Sorry, I would have visited, but I’m kind of a wanted criminal, you know how it is. Some of us get pardoned, and others hide out in the jungles of Africa.”

 

“It happens,” Clint replied casually, chuckling softly and awkwardly adjusting the tie of the special suit that he’d had to wear, for diplomacy’s sake and whatnot. “T’challa? Bucky? Where are the two tall, dark and handsome men at?” The way he spoke, voice teasing but honest, made it momentarily hard for Steve to believe that he was a heterosexual, married man.

 

Before he could respond, another voice sounded, as the king of Wakanda walked over, looking as proud as ever, hands in the pockets of his plaid brown suit. “Very flattering, thank you. I am here, and Sergeant Barnes is in another room, waking up. I can take you to him.”

 

A swift nod, a shaking of hands and introductions between T’challa and the doctors, and they were off, leaving Natasha and Steve standing a few feet away from each other, the Widow staring after the group walking away from them while her companion simply stared at her in silence for probably a little too long, his mind going blank as he failed to figure out why and how it was happening, how they managed to make it so that everything could work out.

 

“Steve?” Nat interrupted his thoughts, taking a step closer to him and snapping the super soldier back into reality by placing a hand on his soldier and looking up at his face. The smile on her lips was reassuring, the look in her eyes warm and honest, something that not many people were able to see, and the true happiness, the trust, it made her more beautiful than any makeup or revealing dress ever could. Seeing that expression, Steve felt lucky, and then calm and content. “Look, I know this seems sudden, but it’s been being worked on for two years now, not that I’m supposed to know that. Stark wants us all to think that he’s just pulled this out of nowhere but – “

 

“Tony set this up?”

 

A sigh and a nod. “Tony set this up. His way of trying to make things better. I can’t blame him either.” Her hand withdrew from Steve’s shoulder and arms moved to settle comfortable around her stomach, tucked into each other, and her gaze moving to look out the window panes that spanned on wall, giving anyone inside a good look at the beautiful jungle canopy below them. “Clint has refused to see him. You wouldn’t think it, but when it comes to holding grudges, Barton is one of the best, especially since the incident with Loki. There aren’t many people in the world who know T- Stark, and of those who do, most are angry, refusing to see him, refusing to speak to him, so he’s working his ass off to make up for it. I don’t think he’s had many friends besides Vision, Colonel Rhodes, and myself since the war, and Vision just reminds him of Jarvis, and he blames himself for Rhodes’s paralysation, so it’s mainly me, and I’m busy. He tries to hide it from me, how much pain he’s in, but it never works, he’s getting worse at covering his emotions with narcissism, and- James! Welcome back to the world of the living, huh?”

 

Bucky was walking towards them, alone, and looking determined as all hell, enough to make Steve tense and wonder if something had gone wrong, if he was a man on a mission, the Soldier taking over his mind once again, right up until he saw that his friend was smiling, and looking at them like he was the happiest man on earth. All he could do was stare as Bucky stopped in front of Nat, put his flesh hand on the side of her face – apparently he hadn’t even waited for his arm to be reattached – brushed a gentle thumb over her cheek, then leaned in to kiss her, quick and gentle, before straightening up and saying, “Thank you, for risking everything so that Stevie and I could get on that plane. I promised myself, when I went under, that when I woke up again, if I woke up, I wasn’t going to play the waiting game, because I understand you, and you understand me, and I see right through you, and you need a little happiness in your life.”

 

Steve had never seen Natasha look speechless before, had never seen her mask fall so quickly and completely, had never seen her forget to fake it, forget to analyse every little thing, forget – in short – to be a spy.

 

“Besides,” the long haired man added, stepping back to return her personal space, and letting his hand drop back down to his side, “I can’t let Steve keep all the pretty girls to himself, now can I?”

 

Feeling heat rise to his cheeks and knowing they had to be turning a brilliant shade of red, Steve snapped, “I told you that thing with Sharon was just heat of the moment! I’m not actually going to go out with her! She’s Peggy’s niece! That would be all kinds of messed up.” The last line was quiet, ashamed, muttered under his breath. Yes, Sharon was beautiful, and she did remind him a lot of the woman he had loved in his past life, but it was just that, his past life, and he had to accept that things were different, and while he had Bucky back, he had lost Peggy, and being with Sharon wouldn’t bring her back. He had to let her go.

 

___

 

His footsteps felt oh so loud as he walked down the ramp out of the plane, stepping back onto American soil and looking around, holding out hope until he’d scanned every face in the crowd and found, to his disappointment, a distinct lack of Tony. Who he did see, though, was a girl walking up to him, probably in her early twenties, with a distinct Pepper-like air to her, lips pressed tightly together, dressed like she had all the money in the world, and doing the job that suggested she didn’t actually have that money, but her boss certainly did. “Captain Rogers, it’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Linda Burgess, I’m Mr. Stark’s latest assistant. He instructed me to show you to your… gift upon your arrival. If you would follow me.” With that, she was walking, not even waiting for him to follow.

 

Starting after her moments later, Steve struggled to make heads or tails of the woman he was walking after. Linda had dyed blue hair, shaved on the side, neatly cut bangs half covering her eyes, and long hair pulled up into a bun on top of her head, a ridiculous look that she somehow made look professional, somehow threatening, especially when paired with how she wore immodest, black clothing that clung to her skin and showed off her figure and long legs. “So, uh, why did Tony hire you, Ms. Burgess?” Steve questioned, pretty sure it had everything to do with her beauty and eccentric taste.

 

“Because he doesn’t want to form an emotional attachment to another assistant and have it go downhill as it did with Ms. Potts,” Linda answered flatly, completely destroying his theory, as she stopped outside a Stark Industries shipping crate and looked to his confused expression. With a sigh, she explained, clearly able to read that he didn’t understand, “I’m a diagnosed sociopath with a history of violence. Mr. Stark got my charges dropped after I allegedly assaulted my ex-husband’s girlfriend, and then hired me. He thinks, for some reason, that that will keep him from falling for me. He seems to have forgotten my manipulative nature.”

 

Steve was dumbstruck, and his mouth hung open in silence for a second before he realised it was rude, and quickly pulled his mouth shut, trying to think up a response to something like… that. He didn’t even get a chance.

 

“Anyways, everything is inside here, and I’m supposed to tell you that if you want to contact Mr. Stark, you’ll have to come see him at the mansion, as he had the burner phone that you left him, and I quote, ‘thrown in a volcano’.” Not saying another word, the woman turned on her heel and was off, not saying goodbye and not caring that she didn’t, if Steve’s judgement of her character was right.

 

Attempting to shake off the chill that the short conversation had sent down his spine, Steve glanced back to make sure Bucky and the others had safely gotten off the plane, and once seeing that they had, entered the shipping crate to see what looked eerily like a Captain America shrine. In the middle of it all was what he immediately recognised to be his shield, and an envelope with his name on it, written in the terrible handwriting of the one and only Tony Stark.

 

> _Steve, hey, so you pulled the stupid letter trope on me, so here it is right back at you. What you see around you is all the Captain America junk that my dad had tucked away in storage, along with your shield and the suits that the government had confiscated. You’d better be grateful, because the paperwork alone was a nightmare. And, for the record, I’m not angry about the whole keeping my parents’ murder a secret thing. I was angry for maybe ten minutes, but now I’m just depressed. Oh, and in the box under the shield is a custom made arm for Bucky. Have him come see me to attach it._

___

 

_Tony Stark wasn’t alone, and his saviour was offering a hand, smiling reassuringly, making promises, empty promises that Tony Stark held no hope of ever being fulfilled. He said that things would be okay, that he could have a normal life, a happy life even, that he would be just fine. The words just kept coming, bombarding the ears of the boy in the pit of darkness, the boy masquerading as a man. Nearly fifty years old, and still a boy._

_Tony Stark closed his eyes, blocked out all the empty promises, felt the hand in his own, the calloused, muscular hand wrapped in a leather glove, with thick fingers that he wanted to feel between his own, squeezing and comforting, in his hair, brushing and ruffling, on his hips, massaging and holding, on his cheek, stroking and cupping._

_If only._

_Sighing, he morphed his lips into a smile, opened his eyes again, and looked up at the man up to him. He used to be so good at this, faking happiness, but he couldn’t even make the smile reach his eyes anymore, so he closed them again, and let go of that hand, convinced that he would never feel it outside of his dreams, never have that love he yearned for. His saviour could never really pull him out, so it was better that he not even be given the chance to try, because if he tried, he might be pulled down instead, and that could never be allowed to happen, so letting go was the only real option._

_Content in the knowledge that he was doing what was right, Tony Stark fell, and, once again, Tony Stark was alone._

_It was so, so dark._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This hurts me just as much as it hurts you.
> 
> In other news, next chapter, Steve and Tony will finally see each other again, and we'll all get to see what two years of solidarity (haha it's the chapter title see I'm clever) has done to the billionaire. 
> 
> Spoiler alert: It'll be sad. Things are gonna get worse before they get better.


	3. I Missed You

Tony couldn't concentrate. Sure, the interview was technically going just fine, he was grinning and saying something about how happy he was to have the team back in America and safe again, but when it came down to it, he really had no idea what words were coming out of his mouth. His mouth was on autopilot while his thoughts wandered, roaming around his brain, telling him that he’d overdone it, that the Captain America gifts had been too much, that Steve wouldn’t get the message, that he wasn't ready to face Bucky, to help fix the arm that had killed his mother.

 

It made him sick, thinking back to that day, when he'd gotten the news, and lost the last of his family. He'd never known his grandparents, had met a few very Italian aunts and uncles, but never really connected with them. The only real family members, as far as he was concerned, were his mother and Edwin Jarvis, and maybe his father, on a good day. Nearly thirty years later, he still hated his father and loved him all at once, was disgusted by his rude treatment of his only son, only child, while refusing to acknowledge that the relationship he had with Howard Stark had been borderline abusive, especially when his drunken rage reared its ugly head in the form of yelled insults and flying tool boxes. He hated himself for those two little words that had pushed himself into his thoughts when he was seventeen, sitting on the couch with his phone to his ear, listening to the voice on the other end giving that news in a piteous tone. He had been told, first, that his father had died, and his first thought had been ‘thank god’, and he was truly thankful, relieved that he was free from the vicious cycle, until his mother’s death had been mentioned as well, and only then did he start crying. Later, he would cry for his father as well, because he really did miss Howard, for all that he despised him, but in that moment, and for the next thirty years, he would hate himself for that one little thought.

He didn't even notice that he was walking off the stage until he nearly tripped on the second to last step, and fell against Linda, laughing it off with the reporters as she steadied him, then began walking with him back to his car. As soon as they were out of earshot, he was pestering her, needing to know.

 

“You saw Steve? Was Bucky with him? How did Cap look? Sad? Happy? Did it seem like he hated me? Did – “

 

Linda cut him off and he was so grateful for her disregard for his emotions and for what society seemed polite things to do in conversation. “Mr. Rogers seemed anxious, and asked about why I was hired, which I assume was both a lame attempt at conversation and a way to figure out if you were alone without asking, as he assumed, like most people do, that we’re sleeping together. I told him no more than you instructed me to, he gave no response, was delightfully shocked by my sociopathy, and looked rather taken aback by the contents of the shipping crate. He looked healthy, well rested, still obscenely fit, and yes, Sergeant Barnes was with him. Anything else?”

 

There was a long silence as Tony tried to absorb the information, stopping by his ridiculously expensive car and resting his hand on the bright red hood so that he could shift his weight onto it and off of his bad leg. His cane helped, but standing in front of the press for half an hour on a messed up leg was still standing in front of the press for half an hour on a messed up leg.

After the war, the area around his right hip, lower back and upper leg, never seemed to stop hurting, and the painkillers only did so much once he had built up a tolerance. For a few weeks, he had refused the cane, the obvious show of his physical flaw, his weakness, his age – his mortality; it was hard not to hate being old and mortal when surrounded by the avengers, immortals and perfect specimens of the human species, all flawless in one way or another. Even Tony, the owner of one of the biggest and most well-known companies in the world and one of the smartest people on the planet, felt inadequate next to them. ‘ _Not that I’ve been around any of them in a while_ ,’ the former hero thought to himself as he sat in the backseat of his car with Linda, not trusting himself to drive with a foot that would sporadically twitch with spasms of pain. It just wasn’t a good idea.

 

His eyes glazed over as he stared out the window, hand clutching the top of his came, custom made – by himself of course – with interlocking red and gold metal to mimic the design of his Ironman suit. All he could think about was Steve, what was going on with him, what would happen when he saw the other, how the war had changed him, and he knew it had to have changed Cap, because it had changed everyone. Pulling up to the Avengers mansion to see two super-soldiers loitering outside did nothing to help the billionaire stop worrying, and in fact only made him overwhelming thankful for the tinted windows of the car and Linda’s hand on his shoulder to steady him, two things that did wonders in the way of hiding how his body had begun to tremble when he had seen them. Right up until the moment when he stepped out of the car, Tony had been convinced that he had been ready to face Steve and Bucky. When he had done that, he had leaned onto his bad leg for a moment and hissed in pain as he adjusted to lean on his cane, and gotten a glimpse at the guilt-ridden expression on Steve’s face and the way Bucky’s eyes stopped on his cane for a moment before quickly fixing themselves on a random cloud.

 

Still, Tony Stark was nothing if not the king of poker faces, so he put on his best smile and walked up to them, putting a ridiculous amount of effort into not limping. “You two are twice my age and you still manage to make me feel like an old man. Anyways, to what do I owe the pleasure?” As the billionaire spoke, he pretended he didn’t see how Steve’s jaw tightened and Bucky’s gaze flickered between him and the sky nervously; in fact, he did his best not to look at the Winter Soldier at all, aside from the wayward glance at his hair, messily pulled back into a little bun, and nicely framing his face along with his stubble. It was a good look for him.

 

“Your, uh, letter said to come see you about attaching Buck’s arm,” Steve began, inhaling deeply and looking to the other man, shoulders squared as if he was about to face off against a difficult opponent in battle instead of talking to an old friend. “Tony, look, are you okay – “

 

But Tony refused to hear that question again, refused to have those empty salutations, the questions about his mood and his day that everyone expected and wanted him to answer by saying that he was fine, because no one really wanted to deal with his issues; even the therapist that he’d tried seeing hadn’t been sure what to do, dealing with one of the most famous men in America. Shield therapists were trained for that, but he didn’t trust Shield therapists, and trust was supposedly important between counsellor and client. “Ah, yeah, that, of course! Come in, to my lab, I’ll get that set up for you.” Before they could even respond, he was off, heading inside and cursing his leg for not letting him walk faster. Against two super-soldiers, even with two good legs he couldn’t escape, but that didn’t stop him from being pissed off.

 

Behind him, he could practically hear Steve’s internal worrying, as he rushed after Tony, wanting to hold doors for him, probably even carry him if that was possible – which it wasn’t, the billionaire wouldn’t be caught dead being carried by Captain Perfect.

 

It was somewhere beyond annoying.

 

“So, the gang’s back together, huh? How was your jungle vacation?” The engineer asked casually as he walked towards his lab, doing his best to pretend that Steve wasn’t holding the door open for him and had practically sprinted in order to have the opportunity. “Do they really have a giant rock shaped like a panther because I owe T’challa a _lot_ of money if they do. We made this bet about it, funny story actually – “

 

“You ramble when you’re nervous,” Bucky said, sounding more mother-hen like than even Pepper had ever managed to.

 

The billionaire didn’t even realise he had frozen mid-step until a large, warm hand was on the centre of his back, and the man who had murdered his parents was helping him into the lab. In a rare moment of speechlessness, he was glad that Steve had a retort to Bucky’s weirdly invasive and worryingly accurate analysis of his behaviour.

 

“Sorry, Buck, but I think you might be wrong about that one. Stark always rambles. By your logic, that would mean – “

 

“So about that arm!” the billionaire hurriedly interrupted, before the two men could read too far into his psyche. “Did you bring it? Kind of hard to attach something that I don’t even have, you know? I mean, I am a genius and all, so if someone were to figure it out, I’m sure it would be me! The technology just isn’t here yet, I’m afraid. Maybe ask Wanda, combine her telekinesis with my science…”

 

As the engineer rambled, the soldiers exchanged a knowing look. They had been to war; they had seen men break before; they had just never guessed that Tony Stark was one of the broken ones.

 

___

 

Bucky was surprisingly pleasant to be around, when he wasn’t brainwashed by Hydra and trying to kill you, and as he left the lab, Tony found himself insisting that the former assassin join him for a beer sometimes, and promising that he would find a way to get super soldiers drunk. When he returned his gaze to the other man in the room, though, he found Steve sitting on a stool, looking picture perfect, legs hanging down and ankles crossed neatly, with the red and gold cane in his hands, eyes fixed on it forlornly, until he finally raised his head and looked to the billionaire. “I did this to you.”

 

There was really no good way to respond to that, was there? Certainly not one that Tony could think of, because he was dead silent, in his lab chair and just staring at his former brother in arms, hoping that if he stared long enough, that sad puppy dog look would be wiped off of his face. No such luck.

 

“Look, hear me out, St- Tony. I know you don’t want help, but I need to help you, because I did this to you! I started the stupid war and it got you hurt, it got everyone hurt! I didn’t want to shift the blame; I thought I could live with the guilt! … I was wrong…” The way his eyes moved back to the metal in his hands shattered Tony’s heart, because, the way Steve reacted to thinking he was the cause of the billionaire’s pain, you would have thought he’d set fire to an orphanage for puppies. “I was so, so wrong. It… it sounds so cold, but it’s easier when they’re faceless, nameless civilians who have died because I wasn’t good enough to save them all, but you’re my teammate! You’re my friend! Or you were… I don’t know if I’m deserving of that title anymore. I was a coward, and a stubborn idiot, and the war, it’s on me. It’s all on me.” He got to his feet and walked over to lean the cane neatly against the table that had just been used as a workplace, before reaching his hand into his jacket and pulling out a neatly wrapped gift, thin and rectangular, no bigger than his hand. “I got you this. Well, I made you this. I wanted to give it to you sooner, but… I couldn’t just send it, I needed to give it to you in person.”

 

There was a short silence, before Tony realised he was supposed to be taking the package from Steve, and all he could do was stiffly whisper, “I don’t like being handed things.” Internally, he cursed himself for that stupid little comment. ‘ _Smooth, Tony. You need to get over that stupid quirk. It’s not cute; it’s annoying._ ’

 

The soldier nodding, though, placed the gift on the table, and left without a word, leaving the billionaire to silently tear open the gift, handling it with the utmost care. Underneath the picture was a painting, framed in a modern glass frame, with virtually no border, so that nothing was obstructed. The artwork itself took Tony’s breath away, though, not because Steve had painted the billionaire himself, not because of his artistic abilities – even though those were unbelievable – but because he had never seen himself look so happy, and, by his estimate, he never would.

 

___

 

_Tony Stark dreamt of his mother, and her beautiful voice. Maria Stark was in the abyss with him, swallowed whole and held down by a metal hand so that she could never escape, even if her son could, but that was okay._

_Tony Stark had made peace with being trapped in the abyss._

_Tony Stark could handle the darkness, as long as the heavy silence didn’t block out his mother’s beautiful singing._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got a rough plan for this but I'm also half winging it. And it's complete unbeta'd. Forgive me for my shitty shit.
> 
> Also I promise the dreams will start to make sense soon maybe.
> 
> 26 June 2016 update: Just a few minor corrections. Next chapter coming soon!


End file.
